


Tear Everything Apart

by CaptainTarthister



Series: The Affair [6]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cheating, Divorce, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-24 04:59:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7494789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTarthister/pseuds/CaptainTarthister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The storm is just beginning for Jaime and Brienne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Salt on Raw

Due to the potential sensitivity of the information, Oberyn had little choice but to see the man in his office. His dark eyes were narrow slits as he stared at the man letting himself in. He was non-descript personified, from his dark blond hair to the tips of his worn loafers. Arthur Dayne had recommended him after being pressed but warned Oberyn never to ask the man his name or whom exactly he worked for. 

“They didn’t see you?” Oberyn demanded, noticing a bulk under his coat. 

“A man knows how to disappear,” was his reply, reaching inside his coat and pulling out a short brown envelope. It was thick. Oberyn didn’t know if it boded well or not. He held it toward his employer and after a moment’s hesitation, Oberyn reached for it.

“What’s in store for me here?” He asked, lifting the flap.

“What you want to know,” he replied, sitting down on one of the chairs in front of the desk. “They are quite graphic.”

Oberyn glanced at him then pulled out the photos.

Quite graphic was a polite understatement. Oberyn had known because Brienne was an honest idiot that way but he hadn’t expected this.  
One had her against the wall, head turned to the camera, eyes closed and lips parted. Her blouse was halfway down her arms, her tits, surprisingly bare, thrust high. Bits of black lace clung to her thighs and between them was Jaime Lannister’s blond head, his hands gripping her hips as if he had every right to touch her and have her this way. Another was still in the same room, but with her bent over a desk and fully nude, Jaime fucking her from behind. Both had their heads flung back and their mouths open and slack. The next had her clinging to him, her teeth biting her lower lip as he kissed her throat. 

If he didn’t know that his wife and that bastard showed up daily for work the pictures would show they did nothing but fuck all day. Jaime Lannister always had his hands under her clothes and she looked pleased, _really pleased_ to let him. Jealousy churned in Oberyn's stomach. He may have fucked Brienne once or twice in the university library but the moment they got married, she would admonish him when he got really handsy even within their home. She tend to be resistant when he managed to fuck her outside their bedroom. 

In all the photos Brienne wore an expression of pure ecstasy, a sight that had Oberyn both violently aroused and itching to punch his fists through a wall. She was his wife, damn her. _His wife_. His. And she had spread her legs for another man’s cock as if their vows didn’t matter. Oberyn didn’t look at the rest and shoved them back in the envelope. He was shocked, betrayed and had never been so angry in his life. At least, he had never expected this degree of anger toward Brienne, the lying whore.

“We have also obtained audio recordings,” The man placed a flash drive on the desk. “They’re from his office and apartment. We can’t get to hers because the security is just impossible. But what we have from his place should be enough for what you need.” 

Oberyn attached it to his laptop and clicked on the file.

_“Suck my cock, Brienne,” said Jaime. A sigh. A grunt. “Fuck, my love. Your mouth was made for this. I’m going to come so hard.”_

It was followed by a loud groan and gasps. Oberyn winced and closed it to open the next file.

_“Hey, you’re the one who works in a museum here,” Jaime was saying. “You should know how to appreciate art.”_

_“That is not art,” Brienne retorted, laughter in her voice._

_"Art means making a statement. My cock states it wants to fuck you."_

There was a rustle followed by a wet, slow sound. A sigh. A named breathed out. _“Jaime.”_ More rustling. More wet sounds. Judging from the rapid breathing, it was clear what was happening. A harsh groan confirmed it. _She doesn’t laugh like this,_ he thought, yanking the flash drive from the computer. 

Probably used to his reaction, the man continued.

“They were seen leaving late in the night three days ago. Mrs. Martell has not returned to her apartment but she still reports to work. So has Mr. Lannister. We’re still determining where they are staying.” 

“Any of the recordings here tell why that is?”

“Not yet. What you have is from a week ago. Based on the budget, you can’t have daily updates.” 

That was annoying but Oberyn feared that any sudden large spending would make his activities obvious. He dismissed the man. After he left, he stared at the envelope and the flash drive. Then he stared at the photo of Brienne on his desk, short hair windblown, eyes soft and her smile shy. He was tempted to hurl it toward the wall but he was better than that. Control, he told himself, taking a deep breath. Control. You can win this.

Brienne was not be the woman he would choose for himself based on looks but something had flipped in him the day he saw her in Tyrell Hall, looking like she was ready to cry as the towel was ripped from her body. Her eyes were an unusual, bright blue and she looked so lost and defeated all he could think of was taking her in his arms. The moment he wrapped his towel around her and shielded her from jeers and guffaws with his body, he knew he was never letting go of this extremely tall girl with the harsh features and the bluest eyes he had ever seen.

His wife was a study in contrasts. Broad and hard, no one would expect that her large hands could be gentle but they were, as soft as the Maiden’s and comforting as the Mother’s. Despite her height and build, she walked with hunched shoulders, as if longing to disappear into the ground. Where the world saw unfortunate looks, Oberyn saw kindness and loyalty. Two traits that made one very vulnerable in the world and awakened all of his instincts to protect her and love her. Loving Brienne had never been difficult—it was something known before it was written.

Despite what she’d done, he still longed for her. This was why he was willing to engage in a war if need be, if it meant getting her back. Her betrayal hurt but what nearly destroyed him was how she wanted to be out of their marriage as soon as possible, that she wanted nothing from him. Music to a lot of ex-husband’s ears, especially the rich ones, but not to Oberyn. He made a vow and meant to keep it until his death. _He loved her._

He stashed the envelope and the flash drive in a drawer and buzzed his secretary. “Call Mr. Dayne for me,” he said. “Tell him I want to set an appointment.”

 

A Dornishman like Oberyn, Arthur Dayne also had thick dark hair, sharp, defined features and eyes as sharp as a hawk’s. While Oberyn’s build was lean and a shade under six feet, Arthur still looked tall and powerful even when sitting down. He scrutinized the photos Oberyn had brought to him before putting them away with a sigh.

“Well?” Oberyn demanded. “That confirms her cheating.”

“Which she told you about.”

“This is proof of her fraud.” Oberyn declared. “She swore to honour me and her loyalty. Those—“ he gave the photos a look of utter disgust. “Are in clear violation of that.”

“Oberyn, we can’t go after her with this because you had no prenup stipulating that a violation of this kind would have her paying you or any penalty. You’ve shown me her assets and financials and you clearly have more money than her. If you go after her for alimony you’re going to look like a bloody ridiculous bastard.” Arthur returned the photos in the envelope and shoved them away. “Give her what she wants. A divorce. Why drag this out?”

“Because I love her,” Oberyn growled. “She’s mine and that fucking Lannister’s just taking her for a ride.”

“And there’s nothing you can do.” Arthur said gently. 

“Yes, there is.” Oberyn leaned his elbows on his knees and looked at him. “I’ve been gathering information about the Lannisters. Let’s just say I found something that will not only destroy that family. I’ve told Brienne that if she pursues this—“

This time, Arthur glared at him. “Did you coerce her?”

“Coerce? I’m giving her a choice.”

“Fuck it,” Arthur suddenly swore. “Her lawyer is Ned Stark. If she tells Ned what you’re making her do—“

“I am not making her do anything—“

“However you put it, you are coercing her. You want Ned Stark to slap you with a harassment suit? Or worse?”

“She’s my wife. I’m not harassing her.”

“She’s no longer yours.”

Oberyn stared at him coldly. “Tell me now, Arthur, right now. Tell me you refuse to represent me.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“You have some loyalty to the Lannisters?” He spat. “That wouldn’t surprise me. Especially that _client_ of yours.”

“I only represented her in her divorce from Rhaegar Targaryen. She deserved more than he was willing to give her.” Arthur said. “Look, this surveillance you’re running on Brienne—end it now. If you get caught that’s one huge lawsuit and frankly, I won’t be able to get you out of it.”

“I have the right to know what my wife is doing.”

“Unless you suspect her of doing something criminal, she’s entitled to her privacy. She’s told you about the other guy. You’re just rubbing salt on the wound, Oberyn. Give her what she asks, that’s my advice. That’s what you’re paying me for.”

“If you reveal to anyone my activities you’ll be in violation of attorney-client privilege,” Oberyn told him. “That will get you disbarred.”  
He smirked as Arthur stared back at him. Then he picked up the envelope and held it out.

“Exercise extreme discretion, Oberyn,” he said. “Do what you must. For the moment, all you can do is go after her for alimony, if you can prove she’s been the one taking care of you and you deserve to maintain that lifestyle. You’re going to look like an asshole but that’s what I do,” he added bitterly as Oberyn took it from him. “My clients always get what they deserve.”

 

Gods, but Brienne sure knew how to torture him, Jaime thought, unable to tear his eyes away from the tight peaks of her nipples straining against the silk of her royal blue blouse. He looked at them hungrily, wondering if they could sneak off to one of the stalls in the restrooms and fuck. She was wearing pants so that was going to take some maneuvering but maybe he could just suck her nipples while she rubbed his cock. That would be just as good. Fuck, his balls were so tight and his cock impossibly and painfully hard—

“Will you stop?” Her voice was sharp and he looked into her big, sapphire eyes and the lovely pink flare on her cheeks. “Jaime, for the love of the Seven, we’re in public.”

He let out a long, tortured sigh and put more sugar in his coffee. “It’s your fault. Your tits look fucking delectable in the top. But it’s not that cold out today. Excited for what I want to do to them?” 

“Jaime,” she hissed, blushing even more and looking around. “Not so loud.”

“Oh, please,” he snorted, putting on a grin that would make her want to murder him later. They were in a diner a few blocks from the hotel, enjoying a hearty breakfast of bacon, hash browns and scrambled eggs. At least he was. Brienne had a bowl of muesli and black coffee. 

Around them, people talked loudly and the waitresses called out the orders even more loudly. The diner was crammed. The bar was fully occupied, as well as the tables. The clientele was a mix of people in sharply-tailored suits and dime-store bargains, and children, of course. The diner was a hub of such bustling activity that it was difficult to hold any conversation, let alone focus. But Jaime had no trouble concentrating on Brienne, sitting straight and primly next to him and ignoring his smirk. Jaime loved that challenge and proceeded to rile her up even more.

“I’ve told you over and over to skip the bra,” he continued conversationally as he forked off from a hash brown. “You don’t need one. Pretty tits like yours shouldn’t be covered, if you ask me. Firm too. Now, as for your sweet cunt---“

“Jaime,” she growled, glaring at him. Then she jumped as his hand dropped on her thigh. He leaned forward to nuzzle her ear, pleased that she shivered.

“I love that you’ve gone full native.” 

“Stop it.” She was so red and sweat was sliding down the side of her neck. Jaime leaned forward and licked it. Hmm. Salty-sweet. _Delicious._ He felt her shudder before she squirmed away, cheeks hot, her eyes bright with desire but her mouth curled into a disapproving frown. He laughed. She got a packet of sugar from the canister and threw it at him, making him laugh harder. 

“The last thing we need is an indecency suit or inappropriate public touching,” she told him mulishly, moving back to her spot and twirling her spoon in her muesli. 

“This is why I vetoed the idea of eating out,” Jaime couldn’t resist. “I’d much rather _eat_ in.” He had to restrain another booming laugh as her ears reddened, catching on what he meant. 

Turning serious, he slipped his hand around hers and kissed her knuckles. “Wench—“

“Brienne,” she muttered.

“Wench,” he insisted. “I know you miss being in your apartment and mine but until Tyrion’s given us the all-clear, we’ll have to rough it out some more in Westeros City’s finest five-star hotel.” They have been staying in the hotel for a week. For the first two days, they were thrilled at never having to do any clean-up and made good use of room service. Come the third day they longed for home. When they fucked in Jaime’s bed, the mattress squeaked and the frame groaned but somehow it was better—much better than one with sheets that were a thousand-thread count. Being away from home also meant they had forgotten some essentials—Brienne hadn’t packed enough bras, Jaime forgot his cologne. Each kept a box of condoms in their bathrooms. The hotel shop and the five drug stores and two grocery stores near the hotel only carried studded or glow-in-the dark condoms. The latter option was a definite no so they tried studded condoms. Brienne came fast and hard, which was actually frustrating because it always triggered Jaime’s orgasm right away, no matter how much he fought it. They preferred to prolong the experience. 

“Don’t worry, I’m okay.” Brienne squeezed his hand. “It’s just. . .I just thought we didn’t have to hide anymore.” At that, she looked around them significantly. Jaime understood. After years of stolen kisses in the dark, hurried fucking, or the rare two days in some faraway place where he fucked Cersei until they were both chafed, Jaime relished being out in public with someone he cared about. 

Oberyn already knew about them but Jaime was touched, concerned and appreciated the risk Brienne was taking. He wanted to shout to the world they were together. 

“Suspecting that somebody might be listening in. . .Oberyn listening in.” She looked at Jaime helplessly. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told him..” 

“And if you haven’t, he’ll still find out. Knowing about us denied him of that ammunition.” 

“Okay, he knows about us. So if he has bugged our places what’s the point? What’s he looking for?” 

Jaime honestly had no clue. Until a few nights ago, they have not spoken of Cersei for over a year, not since Brienne showed up at his shop hours after her father’s funeral, begging him to fuck her. He also never kept anything of those years with Cersei because she was always worried about getting caught. _If the family knows they’ll tear us apart like the lions they are and feed what remains to the wolves,_ she used to tell him. _I don’t want you hurt. You are my darling boy and I protect what’s mine._ He had been a big, romantic fool, thinking she looked out for him when in truth, she was number one and no one else followed.

“I hope we’re wrong.” He said. “But if we’re right, that’s an opportunity for us to fight back. Hit him with a violation of privacy or something. Use the threat he’s used on us on him.” He shrugged. “Who knows, for the first time in my life, something good will come from my being a Lannister.”

“Hey, now.” Brienne’s voice was gentle. “I love that you’re a Lannister.”

He put an arm around her and drew her close. “Yeah? From what I’ve been told, the only good thing about Lannisters is that they shit gold.”

“Your ass is already fine enough,” she teased him. “You don’t have to wow me even more.” 

“So you really must love me,” he said, pretending to ponder about it.

“I know you dislike all that’s associated with your name but it’s part of who you are. You wouldn’t be you without it. But you’ve never let it define you. You’re a Lannister on your own terms.” She blushed and he realized that she was not one to talk about her feelings so openly. Brienne was as intriguing and as challenging as a puzzle box, often unyielding with the secrets of her heart.

He shifted closer until he could lick and nuzzle her neck. He was glad she no longer wore perfume. “Which makes me fucking irresistible.”

“You know what to do in the bedroom,” she said, rolling her eyes but the affection evident on her face. “Don’t push it.”

She kissed him on the cheek then turned away to finish her breakfast. But she remained pressed against him. Jaime watched her, a catch in his throat. He wasn’t that big on talking about his feelings too. So he went for his usual approach of showing them rather than telling.  
“Brienne?”

She gave him a thumbs-up. “Hey, that’s an A for finally getting my name right.”

“Wench.”

“A flash of brilliance, gone faster than a shooting star.” She shook her head at him, making a tutting sound.

“Let’s have dinner at the suite tonight,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I want to fuck you in that shirt. I’m sure I’ll be able to secure our favourite condoms by then.”

Her spoon crashing in the bowl and splashing muesli on shirt was the best response to his proposal.


	2. You Don't Want to be Right About This

Tyrion was already in Casterly Company by the time Jaime arrived for work. The contrast between the brothers were harsh. As handsome as Jaime was even in a worn leather jacket, a plaid shirt, t-shirt and artfully faded jeans with old boots, so was Tyrion as ugly. There was no other way to describe him. His hair was blonde but rather than golden it was pale. His eyes were mismatched, one a brilliant green and the other dark, almost black. He was a dwarf and stood four-foot-five inches. 

He was everything that was wrong about being a Lannister except that his sharp mind. Jaime did not regret turning away from the family and their empire. He couldn’t stand endless meetings about mergers, could hardly make any sense about figures, acquisitions, assets and the like. He had no interest in running the empire of the Lannister Group. Now a small business like Casterly Company was more to his liking. It combined his interests and he got paid for them. 

Tyrion was the only member of the family Jaime was still in contact with. In the weeks following his break-up with Cersei, she had cried and berated at him for leaving her, cried and insulted him about his manhood, his lack of intelligence, his lack of ambition. Perhaps her most ridiculous argument for getting him back was declaring that she started fucking him to groom him to be the man that would head The Lannister Group, telling him tearfully that if he was at the top no one would stop him from getting what he wanted—her. “Is it me you want or Lannister Group?” She demanded. “You can have us both.” He chose neither and set out on his own. It did not please Tywin at all. 

Well, not entirely on his own. Jaime still relied on Tyrion. Tyrion was a lawyer, and his expertise was on tax and corporate law. Jaime _was_ a lawyer too but he let his license expire and had no wish to renew it. On matters involving his book clients, he looked to Tyrion for help. He had dealt with some fanatical book collectors who were eager for his services in finding and delivering a rare manuscript but upon being told how much it would cost them, he was dropped like a hot potato or worse. Thus, Jaime had every client sign a contract that paid him forty percent upfront whether he succeeded or not in locating and delivering their order. For every successful delivery, they paid him the remaining sixty percent. 

Jaime knew that Tyrion employed a local detective and security agency every now and then. He called on Tyrion on the suspicion that his place and Brienne’s were possibly bugged by Oberyn. As he pushed the door open of the shop, the grave expression on Tyrion’s face told him he had bad news.

“My office?” Jaime asked, hating that a day that started so well was going to turn to shit. His lips were still tingling from the hot, very inappropriate kiss he'd given to Brienne just before he put her in a cab.

“Let’s,” Tyrion agreed. 

Pia and Peck were dusting and organizing the contents of the shelves as the brothers went to the office. Once there, Jaime shut the door and Tyrion made himself comfortable on the couch.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Jaime told him.

Tyrion spread his palms. “I wish I could.”

Jaime shut his eyes, refusing to be swept by the surge of red rage. When he opened them, his voice was tight.“So who planted the bugs?”

“We can’t tell. The equipment was generic, there was nothing identifying or unique about them. They could have been brought from any shop from here to Volantis, for all we know. Have there been any deliveries where they had to go all the way to the back?” 

“Always.” Jaime leaned against the desk and crossed his arms. 

“We’ve swept your place clean. There’s nothing there anymore. Brienne’s was spotless.” Tyrion told him. “Still, I’d be careful. This Oberyn character is determined to hold on to his wife.”

“She doesn’t love him,” Jaime declared. “She’s not going back to him.”

“Just make sure, Jaime.”

Jaime frowned. “What’s this? You’ve always liked Brienne.”

“I like her as your friend. Ever since you told me you’ve been fucking and falling in love I haven’t been sure. She’s a nice girl—“

“A nice girl,” Jaime echoed, nodding his head exaggeratedly. “Really.”

“I have no doubt she’s a decent person. She’s a mean poker player and still I liked her. But when my brother starts poking her—“

Jaime straightened up and glowered at Tyrion. Tyrion stared right back from his seat, clearly unintimidated.

“Jaime, she may have left her husband but she’s still married.” He said very gently, as if speaking to a child.

Jaime glared at him.“I love her.”

“Is she worth all this? Word on the street is Oberyn Martell’s hired Arthur Dayne. Last I heard, our favourite aunt fucked him too and they didn’t part on really good terms. What’s to stop him from using dirt against you for Oberyn to get her back?”

Jaime bristled. It hurt when it was confirmed that Cersei had not only been cheating at the time he got gonorrhea. It hurt even more that after Tyrion’s investigation, he had never been the only one Cersei was fucking aside from her husbands. There were others. Including the honourable Arthur Dayne.

“I spoke to her.” 

“To whom? _Cersei?_ Every time you fuck Brienne, you lose what little brains you have, I swear to the gods. Why did you do that?” Tyrion demanded, making a face.

“You question how I feel about Brienne? The extent of my feelings is such that I’d willingly associate with filth to get answers.” Jaime shot back. “No, Cersei never told Arthur about us. Or anyone. For all I know Oberyn just came up with something so off the wall and it just happened to be true.”

“You told Brienne.” Tyrion gave him a disapproving look. “If you’re not thinking with your cock you don’t think at all, do you?”

“I told her years before I put my cock in her if you must know.”

“She must have written it in her journal or something. Mentioned it to someone.”

“No.” Jaime said stubbornly. “She didn’t. I know she didn’t.” Brienne would never betray him. 

“So, let’s suppose the Oberyn’s bluffing. What are you going to do next?” Tyrion demanded. “He’s a sick bastard, that one. Demanding a goodbye fuck from his wife just so he’ll divorce her or he’ll expose you and our sweet aunt.” 

“Yet you think Brienne will go back to him.”

“I don’t completely trust people who lie and break their vows.”

“You think she wanted to betray her husband?”

“Oh, please, Jaime. It’s not like you didn’t help her. You were always there for her. You waited, bided you time—deny it all you want—but I know for sure that you waited for the right moment. You’re probably not aware but you did. I warned you and you insisted you had nothing but friendly feelings toward her. Fuck that. I know the face of a man lying to himself. You’ve wanted her from the very start. Maybe you loved her then. Maybe you just wanted to fuck her before your realized—“

“Do not,” Jaime warned, “talk about Brienne this way.”

“Well, I am. You are in for a shitstorm, Jaime. You barely avoided that with Cersei. What about this time around? It’s only a matter of time before Father gets wind that you’re fucking a married woman—“

“Stop if you don’t me to cut you in half.” 

“Oh, big talk.” Tyrion scoffed, waving it away. Then he continued calmly, “I don’t want you hurt. I saw you fall to pieces when that whore broke your heart. And now we’re here again. The only difference is this time, you have a woman whom you know is cheating with you. Brienne better be worth all this, Jaime. She damn well better be.”

_“She is.”_

Tyrion huffed. “Gods, you went from blond to blonder, from someone who’ll never be there for you to one who is totally unavailable. Your relationship is not complicated. It’s insane.” 

“Brienne is not unavailable,” Jaime retorted. “She just happens to be still married, that’s all.” 

“Fuck, but you have that lovesick look on your face. If I were your size I’d club you,” Tyrion complained. “Nothing stops you, is that right?”

“I’ve never felt this way for anyone. Not even our aunt.”

“I suppose that’s a relief.”

“Brienne gets me. And I get her. And we have each other’s backs.” Jaime went around the desk and sat behind it.

“Again, just make sure, Jaime.” Tyrion hopped to the floor and straightened his jacket. “It’s only a matter of time before Father finds out. He’s going to demand to see you. He has no hold on you but now might be the time to revisit our dear family, brother. Bastards always bring the storm and you’ll be needing all the help you can get.”

Jaime grinned. “What use do I have for other Lannisters when I have you?”

Tyrion’s smile was rueful. “I am only one man. And in the eyes of many, half a man.”

“You know I don’t think that.”

“I’m just saying. Now might be a good time to use what Lannisters are good for.”

“Which is what? Money?”

“What else?” As Tyrion turned to go, he added, “You do know you only have to call me, right?”

Jaime nodded, knowing what he meant. “I know.”

“I don’t approve the circumstances leading to your relationship with Brienne but you’ve been wearing that idiotic, stupid expression on your face since she came to your life. That I can appreciate. Deny it all you want but even when you’ve been fucking other women you were still pining for our dear aunt. You’ll have to emphasize to Brienne, Jaime, that her husband is going to fight dirty. She’ll have to fight dirtier, she has to be the first to hurl mud at him, you understand? We can’t let him outwit you.”

“Ned Stark is looking into it. He too has been trying to get through to Brienne.”

“She’ll listen to you. She’s fucking honourable, strangely, despite what she’s done.” When Jaime began to protest, Tyrion held up his hand to stop him. “I mean that even when Oberyn Martell deserves to be dragged through seven hells she won’t be the one to do it. Not willingly. You’ll have to make her realize she’s the only one who can put him there if you want your fucking happily ever after.”

Jaime shrugged. “Oberyn is unfortunately clean.”

Tyrion smirked and opened the door. “No one is that clean, brother. If not now, he’ll get soiled eventually.” Then he added, “Oberyn will hurt you if he believes it will get Brienne back. You’re a liability, like it or not. Find a way to strike before he does if Brienne won’t and can’t. Just make the call, brother, and you’ve got your man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this installment, I'll be delving outside of Jaime and Brienne's relationship every now and then to see how the people around them react to their being together. I love this scene with Tyrion. Would love to hear your feedback! Thanks again for reading.


	3. You Were Everything, Once

Oberyn flattened the tabbed end of the tape measure as Brienne pulled and stretched it to the other end of the wall. Together, they made a light, pencil mark on it before he let go and the taped whizzed back to the small canister she held. They stepped back and stared thoughtfully at the wall.

“What do you think?” Brienne asked, tilting her head left then right. Her thin, straw-blond hair hung limply past her broad shoulders. As usual it was in snarls rather than artfully tousled but the longer length suited her. It softened the harsh features of her face and it was clear she was female. She preferred tailored shirts and jeans and chafed that with her new position at the museum, she was going to have to dress more formally. More feminine. Oberyn looked forward to seeing her in skirts and earrings, heels.

“Seems to be the right size for a shelf,” he said, scratching his cheek. He looked up. “Seems a waste not to take advantage of the high ceiling.”

“Right? And the shelf can also be a showcase. Like, that’s where the TV and the sound system can be, and books and photographs. Other knick-knacks,” she said. Then she turned behind her and looked at the floor. “This carpet will have to go.”

“Baby, we bought the place with the carpet included,” Oberyn pointed out. 

“But it’s old and beige. We should go for something darker. It’s more practical and will pay off in the long run.” Then she blushed. “Oh. Can we afford it?”

Oberyn’s throaty laugh echoed throughout the empty walls of the house. He went to her and hugged her, tilting his head back so he could look up at her. “We did it, Brienne. We’re never going to have to worry about money ever again. If you think we should re-carpet the place then we’re doing it. If you want silk walls we’re doing it. Anything you want.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Brienne said, making a face. “Silk walls, indeed.”

“I’m not saying we go insane decorating. But money’s definitely no object,” he reassured her. He had been promoted two years ago, and if he played his cards right, he would become regional manager in three to four years, max. He laced his fingers through hers and tugged her to the next room. “Alright, we’re done with the living room. On to the kitchen.”

“There’s really not much. There are lots of cabinets and shelves, the counter is a good size,” she said after looking around. “What do you think?”

“We should have it painted,” Oberyn suggested. “It’s too white.”

“It’s okay but maybe it could use some livening up. Oh gods, we’ll be poring and arguing over colours for months, aren’t we?” Brienne groaned. “Oberyn, maybe you should let me choose. You’re colour blind. I’m terrified we’re going to end up with a kitchen in avocado green or tea-brown.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with avocado green?”

“That’s the colour of baby poop!”

He gagged. “Thanks a lot. I’m never having guacamole again.”

She grinned. “Don’t be a baby.” This time she took him by hand and pulled him behind her. “Bedroom?”

It was the weekend. A month ago, they bought this house, a modest, two-storey, three-bedroom house with two and a half-baths, a huge kitchen, a two-car garage and an expansive yard. They could have moved right away but their lease in the apartment was still for another couple of weeks although they have been packing and moving some into storage. The house only needed minimal work—a kitchen paint job, shelves in the living room, re-carpeting—nothing that would take as long as a month, or even more than a few days. 

The mater bedroom was the biggest room in the second floor. It came with a walk-in closet and a bathroom with a built-in Jacuzzi. Brienne smiled at Oberyn, blushing when he gave one that was definitely naughtier by a mile. He put his arms around her waist, nuzzling her shoulder with his nose as he peered at the room from the side of it. The position often made Brienne feel ridiculous, she so tall and broader than her husband but Oberyn never minded these differences. Her breath hitched as he smoothly slid his hand under her sweater and caressed her stomach. As his hand inched toward her breast, she blushed hard and stiffened. She stilled his hand. "Wait."

"Baby, it's just us here," he whispered in her ear, pulling his hand away and cupping her breasts. Her nipples hardened instantly. They were standing in front of the window and it looked out to the house next door. “And what do you want for this room, baby?” He asked, feeling her getting warmer. She was squirming so with a quick roll of his eyes, he lowered his hand to her waist but kept it under her shirt. She quickly relaxed. 

“When can we move in?” She answered, laughing as he poked her with his finger in a very ticklish spot. She struggled to get away as he continued tickling her until they lost their balance and fell on the floor. Brienne sighed happily, her eyes brilliant as Oberyn leaned over, his dark eyes playful and hot with sensual hunger. 

As he lowered his head so did she raise herself, meeting him halfway for a kiss. She kissed him with the eagerness of one drunk with her first foray into love. And the last, she thought, slipping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him down to her. Oberyn tempered her eager, albeit clumsy kisses with careful touches of his lips to hers, the slow slide of his tongue past her lips as if asking for her permission. She opened her mouth, groaning hungrily and quickly pushing her tongue to spar with his.

“My baby is always so eager,” he teased her, setting her down firmly on the floor and pulling her arms above her head. He smiled as her hips twisted and raised toward his until he put a placating hand on her thigh. “Slow down. You’ll get what you want, I promise.”

Brienne was getting hot in her clothes but Oberyn wanted to kiss her more so she let him. She knew better than to beg because he would just extend the foreplay excruciatingly longer. Gods, she didn’t need a lot of that. Her panties had been wet from the moment they entered this house and started measuring and discussing about paint jobs. She struggled to free her arms from his hands, desperate to grab him and press her cunt to his hand. Instead, she rubbed against his thigh, groaning as the rough seam of her jeans settle directly over her clit. 

_“Fuck me,”_ she gasped as he kissed her throat, as he continued to keep one hand around her wrists so he could skim a hand on her breast through the sweater. “Fuck me, please. Oberyn, I need—I need—“

“I know, baby.” He kissed her on the chin. “You’ll get it.”

“Now,” she begged, pumping her hips frantically.

“Hush,” he placed a hand right on her mound, the warmth of his hand burning through her jeans. “Easy, baby. Easy.”

Brienne managed to get one of her arms free. Sapphire eyes gleaming with victory, she pushed Oberyn to the side, blushing as he frowned. She rose to straddle him then tugged off her top, sweater and tank. She wept as his hands cupped her small breasts, biting her lip hard as he whispered. “I’m going to clothe you in lace and silk, Brienne.”

She cradled his head as he kissed her breasts and gently bit her nipples. Oberyn liked her in those ridiculous nighties and even more ridiculous kinds of underwear meant for showing off tits rather than supporting them. Her tits were tragically small, mere buds rising from her chest. They didn’t need bras but Oberyn liked it when she wore them so when the mood struck her, which was rare, she indulged him. Today she didn’t. 

But at his request this morning before they left their apartment, she had put on an even more ridiculous thong. The strip of nothing at the back was abrasive and rough—it felt like she had an all-day wedgie. The narrow panel at the front meant she could only wear it if she got a wax. Waxing had become a regular thing since getting married but it didn’t make it any less painful. Her skin was swollen, an angry, dark pink against her pale thighs. Still, once Oberyn pressed his lips there, she forgot the discomfort. 

She spread her legs open, closing her eyes at the pleasure wrought from his tongue sliding excitedly up and around the bare skin of her cunt before lowering to her slit and deeper. Her gasps and cries echoed in the empty room, as well as the wet, sucking kisses Oberyn was giving her. “Please,” she moaned, thrusting her hips again. “Please.”

“Always so eager,” a half-tease, a half-rebuke. She blushed because she knew she had gotten loud once again. Oberyn wiped the back of his hand across his lips before kissing her.

As always, he took her with maddening restraint, his body determined to execute a careful orchestration. He flattened his hands on her hips so she would stop moving. Grunted for her to stay still. His chuckle was a mix of exasperation and pleasure as her body refused his demands and still moved, still commanded that he move as she wanted. By the time Brienne’s release clapped into her, she was glad for it due to relief rather than any sexual satisfaction. But Oberyn was the only one she had sex with so she didn’t know yet what she was missing out and what his adherence to discipline meant. And she _had_ been happy. They were so happy.

 

Now Brienne stood in the living room, suddenly hit by the memories these walls still held. She barely noticed Margaery armed with a roll of garbage bags, taking the knick-knacks that she knew were her best friend’s as they had also been displayed in their shoebox dorm room. Seeing the slump in Brienne’s shoulders, Margaery went to her, put a hand there and asked where she had been keeping her clothes.  
“The guest bedroom,” she answered.

As soon as Margaery was gone, the tears fell. They were so happy. She still remembered how she and Oberyn pushed and struggled to put the couch on its present spot, how he threw out his back and she had to massage it. He had groaned and whined while she laughed and teased him for being a big baby this time around. She remembered the weekend nights when they binge-watched Breaking Bad and gorged on pizza and potato chips, Oberyn for once not complaining about the massive amounts of junk food they were putting in their bodies. In the darkness of the room broken only by the flickering lights of the screen, sprawled on the couch and curled as closely and tightly as hedgehogs, she believed that life was always going to be like this. That they would always be this happy.

Oberyn never hit her but his brand of abuse was so perfect, so slick she had been complicit to it. That was the worst thing. Inside-out she turned herself, over and over until she was no longer someone she recognized. Oh, people changed—who they were when they first met were very different from the persons they became. The sick thing was, for a while, Brienne believed herself to be the mask she wore. The suburban wife with her little museum job. Who cooked her husband only gourmet and shopped at the best organic shops. Who kept everything in order until he was home from another trip. She had become from someone who moved freely sans bras and comfortable cotton underwear to one who presented herself before Oberyn in lace and satin, seeing that there was nothing wrong to spend hundreds of dollars on things that were more scraps than actual underwear. She thought herself happy because Oberyn paid attention but when he was gone she was listless and aimless, floundering. And crazy--you had to be in order to pay someone to basically flay your cunt every four weeks else your husband wouldn't touch you.

And he had cut her repeatedly. Ripped her for taking on a job at an independent museum rather than in “a real one.” Smirked and snorted at the artists she launched, artists whom he thought “breathed crack.” He regarded her promotion as something inevitable in that she was the only one qualified to do any real work in the museum. He berated her for reading Margaery’s books rather than “real literature.”

For years she easily swept these memories away, like a shameful secret in a hidden compartment, whenever Oberyn was around. With him she paraded in silks and heels, got down on her knees to take his cock deep in her throat and make the softest noises of pleasure, “moans of a courtesan rather than a whore.” She served him breakfast, made sure his clothes were laundered and pressed, ensured her never had to worry about anything else but work because she was the wife and this was her job, to ensure his life was in order. The happiness she believed they had, and she would always think of it as real, were pockets of calm in the approaching storm.

She would never justify cheating on Oberyn, however. As bad as their marriage had become, they were still married and she made vows—vows she broke. It was wrong and there was no excuse. Yet Brienne had never been afraid to stand by her choices, be it an artist so off-the-wall, Jaime—she would stand by Jaime because not only because she loved him but more importantly, she chose him. As wrong as it was to love him when still very much married to another man, she would never regret nor leave him.

Yet she may not have much choice in the matter, she thought, wondering if she should stop Margaery for getting her things. This day had long been scheduled, when she was sure Oberyn would be gone for the whole day. Biting her lip, taking a deep breath, she opened once again the envelope that had been waiting on her desk when she got to work this morning. In the envelope was a photo of Cersei and her children, blond and green-eyed like her. Beautiful. Golden. Perfect. At the back was Oberyn’s familiar scrawl.

_They look nothing like Jon Umber at all, do they?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa! What do you think of the latest twist?


	4. The Choices We Make

“No!” Jaime yelled.

“Will you shove that fucking pride of yours down the toilet and listen to me—“ Tyrion growled.

Jaime’s eyes flashed to Brienne’s before he glared at his brother again “This is our fight. You think I haven’t thought of what consequences there might be if I drag more Lannisters into this?”

“Both of you shut up and sit down!” Ned Stark exploded, his gray eyes glittering, his face as menacing as the direwolves of his family’s ancient house sigil. When the Lannisters began to protest, he snarled, “Sit the fuck down or I’m throwing you out of the window!”

Tyrion calmly returned to his seat while Jaime slumped heavily on his. Ned continued to glare at them as if he wanted to tear them by the throat before he too sat down. Grumbling under his breath indiscernibly, he poured water into glasses and handed them to everyone. Brienne was sitting by herself at the end of the black, glass-topped conference table in the offices of Arryn, Stark, Baratheon & Associates. Her expression unreadable. Ned stood up to give her a glass of water but she shook her head.

“We can’t go after Oberyn for violating your privacy because we can not prove he did it, or anyone,” Ned began, his gravelly voice soft yet clear in the quiet of the room. “And he can not use anything he's gathered in this manner in court because he knows it's illegal but he's perfectly in the right to use them to force us into a deal--which we are not going to do. You have my word, Brienne," he said to her, his gray gaze level. Then he nodded and continued, "What we can do is find out whoever is feeding him this information but even if we do, who knows what he already has? Speaking of that,” he said, looking at both Tyrion and Jaime, “I need you to be straight with me. If you think I’m overstepping tell me now. Tell me whatever you must as long as it’s the truth. If you don’t want me to know, tell me as well and leave because you won’t be of any help.”

Brienne, who had only looked helplessly as Tyrion and Jaime argued, exclaimed, “No! Ned, you can’t—“

Tyrion glanced at Jaime. The brothers exchanged a look. Then Tyrion nodded. Jaime caught Brienne’s eyes and she sank in her seat, shaking her head but it was futile. “Don’t,” she pleaded.

“I must,” he told her then turned to Ned. “I had an affair with my aunt. Starting when I was fifteen.”

Ned’s expression remained stoic. Jaime glanced at Tyrion again, who gave him another nod.

“It ended when I was thirty. I found out she was cheating.”

“Are Tyrek and Selyne Umber your children?” Ned asked bluntly.

Jaime sighed. “I honestly don’t know.”

“As it goes with Cersei’s ex-husbands, the divorce ended badly. She not only continues to get profits from North Umber Oil but retains a twenty percent share until Tyrek and Selyne are twenty-one, half a million in alimony every month, excluding the children’s tuition and other expenses in connection to them. Jon Umber has been trying to get that decision overturned because she’s rich on her own.” Tyrion said. “Not to mention that she’s a vindictive bitch when she believes herself to be wronged.”

“Jon doesn’t know? Ned demanded.

“As far as we know no one knows about. . .her. And me,” Jaime looked at Brienne again, who was biting her lip. “Tyrion’s the only person I’ve told. And Brienne.”

Ned turned his attention to Brienne then. Realizing what his stare meant, she reddened and protested, “I will never betray Jaime.”

“I’m not saying you will. But are you sure you never told anyone?”

“When we swept your office for bugs did you talk about. . .the affair?” Tyrion asked Jaime.

Jaime and Brienne looked at each other. As he grimaced, she paled. _Oh gods, this was getting worse by the minute._

“We did,” she said. “But we didn’t mention the children.”

“That could be how Oberyn knew but it might also be that someone is feeding him information.”

“You forget Cersei Lannister,” Ned reminded them.

“She doesn’t stand to gain anything from this.” Jaime said firmly. Flushing as every set of eyes in the room turned to him, he stammered, “Look, I’m not saying I’m the authority on her. But if it’s not going to profit her in any way, preferably financially, what’s the point? If those children are proven to be mine she loses Umber’s money. No. She’s not doing this. And she told me. I have to take her word for it.” He was looking at Brienne as he said this, as if pleading with her to understand and believe him. 

Brienne didn’t know what bothered her—the certainty in Jaime’s voice as he spoke about the woman who had stolen his innocence or the reminder once again that they had seen each other recently. Jealousy wasn’t something she needed right now but she couldn’t help it wrapping around her throat and choking her. She had never seen Cersei Lannister in the flesh but the photos from the tabloids showed an exquisitely beautiful woman in her fifties. Still the kind of woman to get the blood a man at any age running. She was that beautiful. 

“Oberyn’s got us in a corner. That bastard has been one step ahead of us all this time. Now that he thinks my niece and nephew are my children, what is he going to demand next?” 

“This is a mess. If we file injunction against Oberyn using the children as evidence for whatever case he’s building against Brienne, we call attention to them and it won’t be long before the affair gets leaked,” Ned said, scribbling furiously on his legal pad. “If we don’t do anything, we’re sitting ducks. We have got to beat this guy in his game.” He looked at Brienne. _What on earth did they think she knew?_

Aghast, she said, “As far as I know Oberyn is spotless. He’s never even had a speeding ticket, for crying out loud. And if he’s got something to hide, I wouldn’t even know where to look. Or how.”

“What about bank statements, tax receipts and the like?” Tyrion asked.

“We keep separate accounts,” Brienne said slowly. “But we have an accountant. He’ll know more.”

“We can’t use him. But papers like that can be accessed if you know the right people,” Tyrion pulled out a notebook and started writing there. “Credit card statements and the like, now that will take a while.” He looked at Jaime. “Should I propose once again putting the Lannister name to good use—“

“No.” Jaime insisted.

“Jaime, you have money but you can’t afford me. If Oberyn starts a war you’re going to lose. Both of you. You need the family backing you on this if only to shut him up and give him a settlement or something so he’ll finally agree to the divorce.”

“Oh, so all that talk about my just having to call you is just that—talk?”

“This morning it was, when I thought Oberyn was merely shooting in the dark. This time he might have something concrete. I can’t do this alone. Ned’s focus is the divorce. I’ll help but I have a feeling whatever involvement I might have, in the way I might be, has to be kept under wraps or it’s my career and name on the line. You need the Lannisters, Jaime, like it or not.”

“I have money,” Brienne suddenly spoke, her voice quiet. “I can pay you, Tyrion.” When Jaime gave her a warning look, she glared at him.  
“I understand you, Jaime. And I don’t want you forced to do something on account of my choices—“

“I’m not being forced! I’m saying no.”

“But there are other people involved this time. Innocent children. Ned’s right. We have to beat Oberyn for once. If Tyrion thinks that following the money trail might lead to something, I’d like to look into that. This is between Oberyn and me, Jaime. The only way it can return to that is if and when we have something that will cause him to back down and leave you and your family alone.”

She spoke calmly but inside her anger was boiling. Bloody Seven Hells but Oberyn Martell was a sick, sick bastard. Never in a million years did she think him capable of cruelty but this was something else. Children, he was going to use children to get back. Maybe because she was so angry and other emotions were just pinging back to where they came from but she wasn’t disheartened that Jaime might have children with Cersei. Not yet. She was outraged at the fact that Oberyn was willing to use children and rip their lives apart just for the satisfaction of getting his very unwilling wife back. She had been shocked and terrified the first time he presented his terms for the divorce. If she didn’t have the sense to call Ned and Jaime she probably would have marched to the nearest gun shop. 

Tyrion dropped them off at the bookshop, as both forgot to tell him they were still staying at the hotel. But they had their keys with them.

They stood in the dark street lit only by a light above them, the rest of the night sky obscured by taller structures. She watched in what little light there was as Jaime fumbled in his pocket for his keys before getting the sliding grill doors unlocked. He pushed it up high enough for them to duck in then went on to unlock the door to the shop. Brienne went in first as he locked up the other doors. She put her purse on the counter.

She was standing in the dark, making out the shapes and figures of the displays and structures in the store. Not too long ago, she had been in the dark, somewhere else, despondent over the consequences of her choice but not this, she thought as Jaime put his arms around her from behind and leaned heavily. He was often the strong one between them. Tonight it was her turn. She put her arms over his, holding him securely. They stood like this for a few seconds, just holding and breathing with each other.

“This is our fight,” he said, his whisper loud in the quiet around them. “Not just yours, Brienne.”

She turned to him. Resting her forehead against his, the warmth from his face and body wafted up to her, almost like a physical embrace. His arms returned to her waist as her hands climbed to the broad width of his shoulders. 

“I’m so sorry we’re here,” she said. “I could have done things differently. Better.”

“You were right to come to me.” Gods, how could she not love him more. “Never regret that. Always come to me, Brienne. Promise me.”  
She nodded. “I swear it.”

The brush of his lips against her was so gentle she almost cried. But to cry meant defeat. She didn’t feel that. Not with Jaime, as difficult as things were becoming. 

“You came to me like this the first time,” he murmured as their lips continued to brush and their tongues stroked. “Except there was rain. You were broken and I was ready to do anything to set you good again.” He cupped her face hard and she could tell he was seeing her as clearly as if they were in a ring of lights. He took her lips in a hard kiss before pulling away. “Remember?”

“I never thought you could love me. Not after what happened.” He kissed her again. She kissed him back, shaking her head.

“I already loved you. I just didn’t know it,” she said, moving close and burying her fingers in his hair. She didn’t want him to stop kissing her. The zipper of his jacket rasped against the sides of her breasts still under her silk blouse. Her body was so warm she hardly felt the cold buckle of his belt against her belly. Closer, she shifted and there it was, the wonderful bump of his cock hard and straining against his jeans. With a soft cry, she lunged toward him. Buried her tongue in his mouth and cupped his cock through his jeans. Jaime’s growl shook in her mouth as he shoved her head closer. He tugged her blouse from where it was tucked in the waistband of her slacks. His calloused fingertips teased the smooth skin of her spine.

“Remember,” she whispered, kissing him back, this time a mere brush of her lips on his own. “The first time we argued?” She slid her hand from his cock to his stomach, her thumb dipping in the taut button of his navel and making him hiss. 

She felt rather than saw him smile before continuing with their kiss. “We’ve argued so many times I don’t remember, wench.” 

“You mocked me for being a true romantic because I said we don’t get to choose who we love.” She smiled too and resumed their kiss. “You said falling in love and loving are two different animals. Falling in love is easy, according to you. Choosing to love someone, that’s when things go to shit.” She pulled back slightly and though it was dark, in her mind she could see him, golden blond hair mussed by her fingers, emerald eyes soft and sparkling, lips swollen and red. “You’re so right because that’s where we are now. Wading in shit.” She sucked on his lips.

“Hey,” he pretended to warn her. “That’s us you’re talking about. We're doing just fine. Bloody fucking _great._ ”

He sucked her lower lip gently and kissed her again. She cupped his warm nape, pushed past his jacket to get to his body. Her hips started to rub against his. She breathed in relief when he started undoing her pants. 

“But I’m also right,” she continued, running her tongue across his lower lip. Her pants dropped to the floor. She was wearing flats so it was easy to step off them and free herself from the pants cuffed around her ankles. “Because I didn’t choose to love you, Jaime. I just do. This is just how things are. Like the air—it just is. Because I love you, I choose you. I will always choose you.” 

“That’s so fucking romantic.” He took her face in his palms and his kiss was gentle.

She sighed and savoured the rasp of his calloused fingertip on her freckled cheeks. “You said something like that too.” 

“Say it again.”

“I choose you, Jaime Lannister. Always.”

She gasped as he suddenly bent and scooped her up by her buttocks. She held hard, marveling at his strength to be able to lift somebody her size and carry her all the way to the display table. The things there were shoved aside, thudding and clanging loudly on the floor but ignored their tender kissing became a passionate, urgent exchange. They kept kissing as Jaime lowered her to the table until she had to raise and bend her legs and prop her feet on the edge. He moved until they were both lying fully on it, though their legs dangled on the edge.

“Say it again,” he asked, pulling at the buttons of her blouse.

“I choose you.”

His lips claimed her pouting nipple, tight and straining all day for the hot, familiar pull of his mouth. Whimpers and hard, sucking noises filled the store, as well as the rustle of fabric brushing against each other and skin, the deep, metallic groan of zippers lowered followed by the loud thud of boots pushed or thrown to the floor. Then she was raising her hips, helping him pull her drenched panties down. The scent of her arousal, of woman and hot want, perfumed the air. Jaime groaned her name and dropped his mouth on her cunt. She whimpered and sighed as he fucked her with his tongue, kissed her wetly and desperately. His lips clamped around her swollen nub and sucked. _"Jaime,"_ her moan husky and thick with want and love. Then he was moving up her body, sharing with her the taste of her hunger. 

Brienne ran her hands down the long, muscular column of his back, wrapped her leg around a lean, hard thigh. She moaned against his tongue as he pulled and pinched her nipple. His other arm was curved under her nape, giving her some comfort while the rest of her body was spread on the hard, unyielding slab of the wooden table. She wrapped her other leg around his waist, the motions of her body the timeless invitation to a joining.

“Jaime,” she cried out when his fingers lowered to her cunt still wet and sensually wrecked by his kisses. His tongue pushed in and out of her mouth, echoing the deliciously frantic thrusts of his fingers in the dripping heat between her legs. She was so wet the force of his fingers fucking her emitted wet, unsexy squeaks but she didn’t care. Neither did he.

“Again,” he demanded, drawing his mouth away from her while keeping his fingers deep inside.

“I choose you. I will always choose you, Jaime.”

She cried out when his fingers suddenly left her but he eased her with another kiss on the mouth. Her response was ferocious. She reached for his cock. Oh, his cock. So thick and warm and pulsing in her hand. 

“Hold on. Fuck, that’s good. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Wench. _Brienne._ ” Jaime groaned, struggling to stop. “Condom—my wallet—“

She stared up at him. Some light from the street filtered through. Shafts of light showed his blond hair, the dilated gaze of his eyes, the rippled muscles of his well-defined body. 

Suddenly she was hit again by the boldness that possessed her to bring him to the home she shared with her husband. The boldness that told him she never wanted anything between them, if he wanted it too. It was the same boldness that compelled her to beg him to fuck her that night, when her world was coming to a slow, painful ended and she needed to hold on to something real to stop it. 

“I need you,” she whimpered. Exactly the words she spoke that first night. “Jaime, I need only you.”

The understanding in his face, in what little she could see, made the quick leap to joy. 

“I love you, Brienne.”

She actually held her breath as his cock began to enter her. First, a few shallow strokes at her entrance, igniting the headiest of sparks then deeper, then oh so wonderfully deeper. She was wet but the strain in his face showed his struggle to get fully inside. He kissed her again, his finger roughly pinching her nipple and making her jerk and throw a wail right in his mouth. A new surge of heat welled up in her cunt before it burst and began to slide down. Jaime groaned and pushed deep, drawing a sharp cry from her.

They fucked mightily, powerfully, the push and meld of their bodies both a fight and a reunion. She moved as hard as he was doing, the force of her own thrusts nearly causing him to spill early. As they moved and pushed against each other like battering rams, she repeated again and again how he was her choice, he would always be her choice. Nothing was going to change that, she vowed just before she came with a scream. Her teeth found his shoulder but he yanked her head away from it. The ferocity of his cock pounding in her drove one scream after the next from her throat, sending it echoing throughout the shop. Nothing was as complete as when he was inside her like this, hard and nearly breaking her. Jaime inside her was so perfect she didn’t want it to end. 

Then he was grabbing her again, his mouth closing over hers as he groaned His entire body shuddered in release and she clung to him, nearly breaking his ribs as her legs fought his sweat-slicked skin. The motions of her hips had softened but her cunt eagerly squeezed his cock as it expelled streams of semen. She fell on the table with a thud, the pain barely registering in her mind still fogged with pleasure. Jaime collapsed on top of her. Together, they breathed. Fast and frantic before they slowed down to a steady, easy pace. Jaime heaved himself up. Brienne blinked back at him. Both of them reached for the other to wipe clear the film of sweat from their faces, their eyes. They kissed, tiredly, yet still wanting more. For now they were sated. Just for a little while. Brienne dropped back on the table and Jaime rolled to the side and reached for her. She kissed his hand before he settled it on her. 

Too limp to move, they continue to lie on the table. It was going to be an uncomfortable night. The surface was slick with the sweat that continued to drip from their bodies. But she was in Jaime’s arms. Here, cloaked in his warmth, listening to him breathe, nothing could touch her. She threw an arm around his waist and looked at his sleeping face, marveling at how easily she could see him in the dark. Nothing was coming between them. Not Oberyn, not Cersei. _This is our fight._

And she would protect him and what they had. 

She put her head on his shoulder and slept, her mind at peace in spite of the wars to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions you might have:  
> 1\. Who's feeding Oberyn information? When will he fall on his face-preferably on maggoty shit?  
> 2\. Did Jaime really father Cersei's children while she was married to Jon Umber?  
> 3\. Will we see any of Cersei's ex-husbands? (Spoiler alert: Yes)  
> 4\. Will there be more twists? HELL, YES!!!
> 
> Me to the beautiful people reading this: THANK YOU FOR THE KUDOS AND COMMENTS!  
> I totally borrowed that line "the wars to come." Wasn't it a title of a Season 5 episode and didn't Arthur Dayne said that in Season 6 Episode 3? I love that line, really I do.


	5. Collisions

One month later

 

“You’re not serious.”

“What? How can you say that?”

“No. You are fucking with me!”

“Brienne, I love you,” Margaery said, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh. “You have amazing legs and beautiful eyes but you’re not my type.”  
Then she peered at the disbelieving face of her best friend. Pale blond eyebrows drawn together. The vivid red splotch that was her blush on her face. Blue eyes big and getting bigger. Margaery tried to stop the grin from spreading across her small lips but failed. As a huge smile broke across her face, Brienne’s frown wavered until it cleared and she giggled.

“Seven Hells, yes! I would love to!” She exclaimed, slamming her palm down the table. Margery laughed and clapped her hands. “Oh, Marge, I would love to be your maid of honour! But are you sure? With what’s happening—“

“I know it’s a lot to ask of you right now. But you’re the sister I never had, Bree,” Margaery said, reaching for her hands and squeezing them. Her brown eyes sparkled. “I don’t want anyone else with me when I marry Renly.”

“A lot to ask of me—you’re ridiculous. No question about this, Marge, but are you really sure?” Brienne asked. “I mean. . .with the way things are? Do you really want somebody who’s cheating on her husband to be with you on your wedding day?”

“Well, it’s a little unusual but let people say what they want.” Margaery said determinedly. “You are my best friend and my family. You don’t have exclusive rights to mistakes.”

“Not my kind of mistake.”

“But you’re living it, or rather him, and standing by him. Who would be brave and crazy enough to do that?” Margaery pointed out. She squeezed her hands. “Only you, Brienne. Everyone’s love story is different. Some are just more. . .unusual than others.”

As they released each other’s hands, Brienne sighed and absently forked off tiny chunks from her blueberry cheesecake. It was her favourite dessert but didn’t have the taste for it at the moment. “Unusual. That’s one way of putting it.”

“It’s not like we can map how things in life would be. Nobody wanted this to happen—you, above all. But it did. And you’re not skulking off or denying it or being a self-righteous twat. Now,” Margaery rubbed her palms excitedly. “Let’s talk about dresses.”

“Oh, gods. Maybe you should ask someone else, Marge,” Brienne groaned, clapping a hand over her forehead. “A dress, really?”

“Of course! And trust me, you look good in them. You have my word that I won’t put you in some salmon or some puffy monstrosity. I fucking have taste. We are going to look fabulous.” 

As Magaery swiped and scrolled through her phone to schedule their first shop visit, Brienne looked idly around the restaurant. Castle Black may be an odd name for a restaurant but there was no disputing that it was one of the classiest, if not the most elegant. The tablecloth was crisp linen of white layered with black, the goblets the most delicate crystal, the silverware, even at lunch, was silverware. She took a sip of wine as her eyes continued to roam through the guests at the restaurant, not really looking at any of them. That is, until a woman with golden blond hair pulled back in a sleek chignon was led to a table at the middle of the area. 

A definite hush fell as everyone tried to crane their necks discreetly to watch Cersei Lannister gracefully take her seat and nod coolly at the host, who was presenting the servers and the sommelier for her table. As the sommelier opened the wine list, she emerald gaze sharpened. Her ruby lips moved, almost as if she were gritting her teeth as she spoke. Then the sommelier nodded and went off. The server tried to offer her the menu next and he got the same harsh look, followed by the arrogant rise of her elegant brow. He too left hurriedly.

With a bored expression on her beautiful face, Cersei surveyed the restaurant. Brienne quickly dropped her eyes, flushing and shakily lowered her goblet. Her blush spread to her neck as she felt the other woman looking at her. But that was unlikely, she reasoned. Cersei did not know her or anything about her. Margaery, the only one oblivious to what had just happened, put her phone down and announced, “We have an appointment Saturday two weeks from now. Can you make yourself free?”

Glad for the distraction, Brienne nodded. “Of course. Thanks for asking me again, Margaery.”

Margery, noticing her too-pink skin, peered at her critically. “What’s the matter? Are you unwell? You know, you hardly touched the salmon and your cheesecake is basically intact. Don’t they taste good?”

“They’re wonderful,” Brienne assured her. “I just. . .I guess it’s the waiting around for what Tyrion would find out and whatever Oberyn would pull out of the bag next.” Three times it had been attempted to serve Oberyn with divorce paper and three times he had avoided them. She knew he was aware of them and was lying in wait to strike once again. Headaches were frequent, as a result, and she had been dealing with a slight nausea for a couple of weeks already.

“That’s why I really can’t enjoy this,” she said, helplessly looking at her dessert. She downed her goblet of water, wincing. “I probably shouldn’t have had the wine either.”

“Well, if you’re not finishing it, allow me, my lady,” Margaery teased her, reaching for the plate and pulling it to her side. She took a generous forkful, put it in her mouth, chewed and closed her eyes. “Um. Gods. I won’t be able to have anything this good until the wedding.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not going on a diet, are you?”

“Of course I am.” Margaery said defensively. “I have to lose seven pounds.”

“You don’t need to lose seven pounds.”

Margaery cut off a piece from the cheesecake again. “I’m being kind. I have to lose ten pounds.”

“Renly will love you no matter your dress size.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to look like a cow in the photos.”

Brienne rolled her eyes. “You are not a cow.”

As they continued their playful, affectionate banter, a server approached their table. Margaery was giggling and had just finished the dessert when she looked up curiously at the young man. “Yes?”

He held a small tray that contained a glass of martini. He smiled at Margaery then at Brienne as he put the glass next to her plate. “Pardon me, Mrs. Martell, but your husband requests that you join him in the bar.”

As Brienne paled, Margaery exclaimed harshly, “Husband?”

Startled by Margaery’s reaction, the server stammered, “Uh, why yes.”

“He’s been following you?” Margaery demanded as Brienne hastily reached in her purse for money. “Bree, don’t be ridiculous, let me—“

“Please tell my husband I have to run,” Brienne replied, her hands shaking as she thumbed out a couple of bills and put them on the table. “Thank you for the martini but he of all people should know that I detest the drink. Margaery, come on.”

Brienne shoved her chair back with more force than necessary, sending it toppling to the floor. As she cried out, all eyes in the restaurant, including Cersei Lannister’s, went to her. Now red in the face, Brienne muttered an apology and ducked her head, narrowly missing a waiter carrying a large tray armed with food. Margaery pattered behind her.

To get to the door, they had to pass by the bar. No choice. Brienne saw Oberyn moving out of the corner of her eye and she quickened her step, practically diving for the exit. Margaery, seeing what was about to happen, put herself right on Oberyn’s path and glared at him.  
“Leave Brienne alone,” she sneered, enunciating every syllable. Realizing what had happened, Brienne turned around and covered her mouth in horror as Oberyn turned his annoyance to her best friend.

“Get out of the way, Margaery. This is between a man and his wife,” he ordered her. 

“Margaery—“ Brienne started to say but Margaery refused to back down.

“Were you stalking her?” She demanded.

“Why would I need to stalk my wife?”

“She’s not yours anymore.”

“Marge,” Brienne approached them and Oberyn quickly grabbed her by the elbow.

“We need to talk.”

“Unhand me, Oberyn. Now.”

“I’m your husband, you fool. That gives me the right to touch you however I want, not that fucking Lannister,” Oberyn snapped and with surprising strength, yanked her to his side. Margaery gasped just as the host of Castle Black went to them. In a low voice, he asked, “Is there a problem?”

“This man—“ Margaery started to say but Oberyn talked over her. 

“I thought to surprise my wife and she’s angry because she doesn’t like them,” he answered smoothly.

Seeing the mutinous expression on Brienne’s face, the host asked, “Ma’am is this true?”

“N-No. Oberyn, let go, please, this is embarrassing—“

“Oh, but not as embarrassing as fucking Jaime Lannister while still being married to me?” Oberyn’s raised voice drew every eye in the room to them once again. His black eyes glinted at the humiliation on Brinne’s face while Margaery looked ready to murder him.

“This isn’t the place for this Oberyn, and you know it,” she pointed out, grabbing Brienne’s other arm. He slapped her hand away and snarled, “Mind your fucking business.”

“Ma’am, sir, please, you’re alarming our guests,” the host protested.

“Fine. We’ll go somewhere. Alone.” Oberyn said, giving Margaery a pointed look. Brienne dug her heels on the floor.

“No,” she hissed, trying to break away from his surprising break.

“Don’t be stupid, baby. I want to talk to my wife about these ridiculous divorce papers. I won’t take long—“

“She said no, Oberyn!” Margaery cried out, realizing that if Oberyn was going draw attention to humiliate Brienne, she’d do the same and humiliate him. “Let her go.”

Brienne managed to break away but Oberyn grabbed her again. As they struggled, a smooth voice spoke up, “Mister, the lady said her friend doesn’t want to go with you. Unhand her.”

Brienne’s back facing him but she saw the confusion on Margaery’s face. “Uh, Jaime?”

“No. Gerion actually. You know my nephew, pretty girl?”

“Fucking Seven Hells,” Oberyn cursed, swinging around. Brienne’s eye slammed on a handsome, golden-haired man who was a near-replica of Jaime except for the soft lines around his emerald eyes and his silver-shot beard. “You a Lannister?”

The expression on his face was both arrogant and amused. “You have a problem with Lannisters?”

Sensing that trouble had grown rather than abated, Brienne stuttered, “Uh, Oberyn, we-we should go—“

“Yes, I have a problem with Lannisters.” Oberyn suddenly shoved Brienne away, who cried out as she toppled toward Margaery. Margaery caught and the Castle Black host caught and steadied her. Wide-eyed, she turned to watch Oberyn stepping toward Gerion Lannister.  
“You Lannisters are everywhere. If you’re not trying to serve me divorce papers—a divorce I’m contesting to, one of you keeps fucking my wife.” Then his face curled and he shoved at the older man.

“Oberyn, no!” Brienne cried out.

“You have a big problem, son,” Gerion said, his easy tone and smug expression clearly not to be trusted. “And it just got bigger.”

Then he pulled back his arm and punched Oberyn in the face. 

 

Though only Jaime had been called, he thought it would be wise to bring Tyrion and Ned to the police station with him. As Ned drove, Jaime tried to give them as much of the facts as he could, although they made very little sense to him. Brienne had called him, sounding scared and worried, Margaery sounded alarmingly gleeful while Cersei sneered. 

From the details they gave him, it seemed they had all ended up in a restaurant, along with Oberyn Martell and Uncle Gerion, if he heard that right. There was an argument and somebody got punched in the face, police were called and arrests made. 

Ned had to park the car so he dropped of Jaime and Tyrion in front of the station. As soon as Jaime’s feet hit the ground, he sprang for the glass doors, not looking to check if Tyrion got hit or was able to keep up with his long, anxious strides. At the front desk was a bored-looking police officer, watching as a tall, blond woman filled out some forms. “Brienne,” Jaime said in relief and she turned around at the sound of his voice.

“Jaime, you’re here,” she breathed out, sounding just as relieved. She went to him and threw herself in his arms.

“What happened?” He asked. “Are you alright?” He pushed his fingers through her hair, needing to touch her, see that she was alright. She nodded and continued to hold him. As he dropped a kiss on her shoulder, he noticed that Margaery was sitting on a bench and next to her—  
Tyrion snorted. “Well, look at what the cat dragged in.”

Cersei rose from the bench. Jaime felt Brienne tense in his arms as she turned to watch Cersei look at her with disapproval and resentment. She shrank back against Jaime, who tightened his arms around her waist.

“You never told me you’re serious,” she said accusingly. “We could have met under better circumstances. Tyrion,” she barely acknowledged him with a nod. “Of course you’re here.”

“We just finished bailing them out,” Brienne explained to Jaime. “Oberyn wanted to press charges.”

“Them?” He asked her, ignoring Cersei and therefore risking more of her ire. He pulled Brienne by hand and steered her away from everyone else. 

“Oberyn seemed to have followed me to my lunch with Margaery,” Brienne answered, sounding wary. “He was going to make him go with him and—“

Jaime crossed his arms and frowned. “`Make you’—what does that mean? He tried to force you?”

She looked helpless. “He was a causing a scene, Jaime.”

“And you thought it wise to go with him? He. . “ He took a deep breath to calm himself, refusing to remind her about Oberyn’s assault. Breathing cleared his brain, somewhat, and told him there was only one thing he wanted to do. He grabbed Brienne’s chin and kissed her.  
She gasped against his mouth but didn’t push him away. Good. His kiss hardened, bruising her as he vented his ire on what he won’t say and his worry for what could have happened to her. It was a kiss better done behind closed doors, in the dark, but he wanted Oberyn to catch them at it. He wanted Cersei to see. Brienne must have realized this because she put a gentle but firm hand on his chest and turned away, her cheek still pressed to his lips. He sighed and hugged her. 

“I’m glad you weren’t hurt.” 

“Your uncle was.” At his puzzled expression, she added, “Uh, he hit Oberyn and Oberyn hit back. But Oberyn attacked first.”

“What?”

“Jaime, my boy!” A hard hand clapped him on the shoulder. Brienne had to steady Jaime lest he fall and take her with him. He turned around and saw Gerion grinning at him. His jaw was purpling but he was smiling at Jaime as if everything was normal. “It’s been years, you little fuck, why haven’t I seen you?” He saw Tyrion coming toward them and he rolled his eyes. “Well, I see you all the time. I’m sick at the sight of you, to tell you the truth. But this fella here,” he patted Jaime on the shoulder. “I’ve missed you, Jaime. It’s been years.”

“Uncle Gerion.” Jaime missed him too. “I’d like to introduce you to my girlfriend, Brienne.”

“Brienne,” Gerion took her hand and kissed it. He smiled at her blush. “That Martell fellow in the restaurant said he’s your wife and my nephew is. . .well, that you’re together. Is that right?”

“They’re getting a divorce,” Jaime said defensively. 

“Jaime has a thing for married women,” Cersei spoke up suddenly. Her smile was cold at Brienne. “Brienne, I’m Cersei. Jaime’s aunt.” Then she gave Tyrion a side-eye. “And Tyrion’s.”

“She’s my sister,” Gerion added. “Twin sister.”

“It’s nice to meet you. Um, I should. . .I should check on Marge. And Oberyn.” Brienne said this to Jaime. He shook his head but she gave him a pleading look. Reluctantly, he let her go.

As soon as Brienne was out of the earshot, Gerion’s friendly expression turned serious. “Jaime, out of all the women you can have, you have to choose one that’s married.”

“She’s getting a divorce. We’re living together now.” Then he clamped his lips shut, knowing he had just revealed something dangerous. Sure enough, Cersei glared at him. Tyrion looked surprised too before he sighed warily.

“We’re adults and consenting. We know what we’re doing,” he said firmly, daring them to question or disapprove. 

“None of us are questioning that,” Gerion clarified. “But this is clearly a volatile situation. If I hadn't overheard him insulting you, I wouldn’t have stepped in and made it my business. Hells, if I wasn't there to meet your aunt, who knows what might have happened. He was practically dragging her out of the restaurant if not for that hot brunette friend of hers.” He looked past Jaime’s shoulder and grinned. “What’s her name? Is she seeing anyone?”

Tryion sighed loudly. “Can we get back on things we have to deal with first? As touching as this reunion is, a police station is hardly the place for it.”

“He’s right,” Cersei reluctantly agreed. “We should leave.”

Just then, Ned Stark arrived. He nodded at Jaime and went to Brienne, who was talking quietly to Margaery. Jaime watched as he approached Brienne and said something to her, his face concerned and grave. Brienne looked startled and her eyes immediately sought Jaime’s. He could feel her worry hitting him in waves. 

“Excuse me,” Jaime muttered and went to her.

“I was just telling her we have to leave, now.” Ned said, glancing at Brienne. “Oberyn called Arthur Dayne and wants to file a harassment suit against you.”

“What the hell for? I didn’t punch him. I wasn’t there.”

“But your family was. Oberyn says Gerion intervened in a private conversation he was having with Brienne and was resistant when told to leave. Gerion got aggressive so Oberyn hit him.” 

"Oberyn attacked him first!" Brienne protested.

“Where’s that fucking son of a bitch?” Jaime demanded. 

“Jaime, no.” Ned growled. He turned to Brienne and Margaery. “I implore you, we should leave before Oberyn’s informed that you bailed him out. If he sees any more of the Lannisters, who knows what cockamamie bullshit he’ll come up with next. Let’s go.”

“I’m so sorry, Jaime,” Brienne apologized.

“None of this is your fault,” he told her. “But Ned’s right. We should go.” 

He took her hand and steered her behind him. Together, they went to the other Lannisters, Jaime informing them of what Obery had done. Gerion looked grim while Tryion’s eyes rolled to the ceiling. 

As they climbed down the steps of the station, Tyrion’s phone rang. He answered it. “Tyrion Lannister. Oh. Father.”

Jaime’s grip on Brienne’s hand tightened.

“I see.” Tyrion’s voice was clipped and his expression stiff. “Yes. I shall.”

Jaime looked at him expectantly. Tyrion groaned.

“You’re being summoned,” he said. “By father.”

“Me?”

“Only you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, an update! 
> 
> To be safe, there might three more parts after this, each numbering between five to seven chapters. So we still have quite a journey here, more flashbacks and twists. Thank you for reading and commenting. I love getting them!

**Author's Note:**

> If it isn't obvious yet (it's twenty feet high with hundred-megawatt bulbs), I'm not a lawyer.


End file.
